Those Pills

Graham is my most inquisitive son. He's a real deep thinker, so when things don't add up, he's sure to speak up. He's also one to form convictions and stick to them...

My sister is 44. She and her husband don't have children. They decided this early on, and so my sister has pursued a career instead.

So Graham asks, "Why doesn't Aunty Bonnie have kids?"

"Well," I answer, "she and Uncle Jerry decided not to have kids. She's very busy working, so she decided to do that instead of staying at home."

"But," Graham continues, the gears are churning in his eight year old brain, "why aren't the kids just coming out of her tummy like they are with the other ladies?"

Good question, I thought, so I said, "I guess she took some pills call birth control. If you take birth control pills, then you won't get pregnant."

"Is that right?" Graham asked, "If YOU took birth control pills then we wouldn't have been born! You would stop a life from coming into this world."

"Yes," I said, "And there are a lot of people that believe that. Like Mrs. K, she agrees with you, but some other people don't. You have to decided what you believe about that. God says that children are a blessing from the Lord, but everyone needs to decide what they believe."

"Well, my wife is not taking birth control," he says, leaning back on the seat. "I want to have lots of kids."

Meanwhile, six-year-old Nathaniel has his own take on the whole situation, "I'm eating lots of those pills when I gwow up!" he says, "'cause I don't evew want to get married!"

Is Ronald Real?

I took my little kids out for lunch yesterday. I like to surprise them at school every few months to say "Put away the sandwiches--we're going out to eat!" Which is always followed by children jumping upside down yelling "Oh, McDonalds! Oh McDonalds!" So off we went to Rotten Ronnie's, "home of the golden salt lick."

As we were sitting there munching down beef, I remarked to the children how Ronald McDonald looks remarkably like Aunty Bonnie. Of course that's only on the days she puts lipstick on without a mirror, or when she wears yellow, but the resemblance is undeniable.

"In fact," I told the kids, "We met Ronald McDonald when we were kids and Ronald told Aunty Bonnie that her hair was just like his." I didn't tell the kids how Bonnie insulted the guy by pointing out that her's was real and his wasn't because I worried that might crush their image of him.

"Ronald is not real," Graham giggled while he swivelled in his yellow chair.

The other two kids silently waited for the verdict to come, staring intently at me.

"Of course he's real," I gasped, "I met him right in this restaurant years ago."

Graham still did not believe it, and does not believe it because as he puts it, "Ronald McDonald is not in the Bible!" He has a point.

This morning my husband told us both something that I didn't know. But this little secret of his made him all that more attractive.

My husband knows the lady who cuts and dyes Ronald's wigs. He went into a long impressive story proving that his friend is Ronald's hairdresser. Pretty impressive--and I sleep with this man! (Michael, not Ronald.)

"Do you believe it now Graham?" I asked.

"No."

So until I find it in the Bible, I think that will remain his final answer.

Strand of Three

Some days I miss having a newborn around. Other days I'm just thankfull for where my children are at today.

The greatest responsibility that I’ve been given as a woman is that of raising my children. There is no greater reward to be found in any job than this one. I’d change a thousand diapers for that very moment when a new life is placed in my waiting arms. The warmth of new skin, little arms waving about, and the clucking sound of one waiting to be fed, are sounds and sights of a new life placed in my care.

Dad takes a step or two back unsure of this new responsibility, unsure of where he fits in.

For the next three months, baby is reliant on me, to be fed, to hold him at night, and to quiet his cry. Then we see that baby prefers to lie in Dad’s lap, and toddler prefers to climb on Dad’s back, and a young boy runs to greet Dad at the door—-that is until he gets hurt, and runs back to Mom.

Together, we raise the children as God intended—-a strand of three that is not quickly broken—-Mom and Dad together as one.

Goody Two Shoes

Argh--that goody two shoes! My teenager is a good kid. The problem is I'm not, so once in a while we have our little clash.

Today I was dropping my kids off down the street. Literally it was about 12 houses away. We were in the car because we had just come from the school. I dropped the kids off, and returned to the car, but didn't click on the belt--after all, home was only half a block away.

"Did you know that 70% of accidents happen within 5 miles of home?" He asks, trying to talk above the beep of the warning alarm. Oh, did I mention that goody-two-shoes is also a brainiac?

"Uh, I'm just a block away." I said turning into the driveway.

"That's what they all say," He answers shaking his head, "then BANG--the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out..."

A little vivid, but I got the picture. Argh!

The Most Annoying Thing in the World!?

Dear Diary,

We did the unthinkable and bought our kids "Crazy Frogs" for Christmas. They strap onto their backs like a backpack and play annoying music. So the kids can run wildly through the house disrupting the peace. I suppose that these things are meant to annoy parents, but truth be told, I kind of like the little frogs. If you don't have a kid in your life, you might not know what Crazy Frog is yet, so let me enlighten you by showing you the video. Adorable or Annoying? You be the judge...

Crazy Frog Techno Video

Tis the Season to Get Neutered

Dear Diary,

The dog got neutered last week, and with the operation came all kinds of questions. Basically I said that he got his balls removed so that he wouldn't have babies--blunt perhaps, but that's me. Ok, I did cutesy it up just a bit referring to them as his "Christmas balls," along with a round of "Tis the season to get neutered," just to soften the blow and prevent the little ones from having night terrors.

Of course the kids gave all kinds of pro-life arguements trying to convince me that a life with 101 Retreivers would be the best life there is, but I didn't buy it for a minute. So, Digger went under the knife and came home two balls short of a toolbox.

Things have started to return back to normal around here. Digger is leaping all over the place, his appetite has returned, and he's enjoying the pillows a little less than he used to.

Graham came up to me as I was setting the table, "Mom what if I decide not to get married?" he asked.

"Well that's fine," I said as I laid down a plate, "you could live with Dad and I."

"But what about my balls?" he asked looking down at his Bum Equipment from Wal-Mart, while I choked on a breadstick.

"Uh... what about your balls?"

"Can I get them removed?"

"You want to get neutered?" I asked trying to swallow my grin.

"Yeah, like Digger!"

Of course I did the only thing I could do at that point. I gave all kinds of pro-life arguements trying to convince him that life with 101 Kids would be the best life there is.

He didn't buy it for a minute.

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Super Mom

Dear Diary,

Last night I did the "supermom" thing by camping out in a line up with my teenager and his friend so that he could have a Nintendo Wii for his Birthday. They are extremely rare to get a hold of this Christmas, and seeing that we were celebrating his birthday, I decided that we could just move the sleepover to the local mall.

We got there around 3 am and the other early bird customers arrived at 5 am. Only three of us got the Wii, the other latecomers (5:30 am) were out of luck

Wow, I never knew that this devotion to my children would be an attractive attribute in the eyes of my husband, but it was. :) He couldn't stop hugging this morning and telling me how great I was. Makes me want to pull out the Scrabble, the Monopoly, and every puzzle in the house to spend some more quality time with the kids.

My husband just finished doing the grocery shopping and he's on his way home with an iced cap for the special "mom" in his life. This is great.

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Ugly Mom

Dear Diary,

Today is my little girls birthday--halfway to adulthood. It's been an extremely tough year for her, but thanks to God she is doing wonderfully well, and back to her normal adorable self.

She's wearing glasses now and prefers the thick black framed ones over the wire--so do I. Who wouldn't--she's adorable! So, the other day I ask her, "Do you want me to wear my black glasses to school tomorrow too, so we can look the same?"

Too quickly, she answered, "No... uh... that's ok."

"Oh, ok then," I said not wanting to push the issue.

"Well, Mom," she added, "I don't mind if you wear your glasses, but I just don't want you to have to be 'ugly Mom' for a day--that's all."

Ugly Mom? Is that what my family thinks of my glasses? I picked them up in hopes that I'd look like Michelle Pfeifer's character in "I am Sam," but instead of being Michelle, I'm Ugly-Mom.

So, IHOP into Maddy's room that night to lay a few kisses on her cheek as she tries with all of her might to redeem herself for the Ugly-Mom comment that made the whole family crack-up just a half hour before.

"Mmmmm.... you smell great," she said with eyes half closed.

"Really? You like my smell?" I ask.

"Yeah, you smell like Brocolli soup..." she lays back, eyes still half closed taking in the scent of my veggie packed aroma.

So there you have it, I'm Ugly-Brocolli-Soup Mom, but I'm loved.

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